Weaveworld

The Angel made a sour sound. The image of the paradise-garden convulsed, and Shadwell glimpsed furtive figures moving amongst the trees like thieves.

They began here, said the Angel; and in Shadwell’s mind he saw the earth break open, and plants rise from it with human faces; and mist congeal … But they were accidents. Droppings from greater stuff, that found life here. We did not know them, we spirits. We were about sublimer business.

‘And they grew?’

Grew. And grew curious.

Now Shadwell began to comprehend.

‘They smelt the world,’ he prompted.

The Angel shuddered, and again Shadwell was bombarded with images. He saw the forefathers of the Seerkind, naked, every one, their bodies all colours and sizes – a crowd of freakish forms – tails, golden eyes and cox-combs, flesh on one with the sheen of a panther; another with vestigial wings – he saw them scaling the wall, eager to be out of the garden –

‘They escaped.’

Nobody escapes me, said Uriel. When the spirits left, I remained here to keep watch until their return.

That much, the Book of Genesis had been correct about: a guardian set at the gate. But little else, it seemed. The writers of that book had taken an image that mankind knew in its heart, and folded it into their narrative for their own moral purposes. What place God had here, if any, was perhaps as much a matter of definition as anything. Would the Vatican know this creature as an Angel, if it presented itself before the gates of that state? Shadwell doubted it.

‘And the spirits?’ he said. ‘The others who were here?’

I waited, said the Angel.

And waited, and waited, thought Shadwell, until loneliness drove it mad. Alone in the wilderness, with the garden withering and rotting, and the sand breaking through the walls…

‘Will you come with me now?’ said Shadwell. ‘I can lead you to the Seerkind.’

The Angel turned its gaze on Shadwell afresh.

I hate the world, it said. I was there before, once.

‘But if I take you to them,’ said Shadwell. ‘You can do your duty, and be finished with it.’

Uriel’s hatred of the Kingdom was like a physical thing; it chilled Shadwell’s scalp. Yet the Angel didn’t reject the offer, merely bided its time as it turned the possibility over. It wanted an end to its waiting, and soon. But its majesty was repulsed at the thought of contact with the human world. Like all pure things, it was vain, and easily spoiled.

Perhaps … it said.

Its gaze moved off Shadwell towards the wall. The Salesman followed its look, and there found Hobart. The man had taken the chance to creep away during the exchange with Uriel; but he’d not got far enough.

… this time … the Angel said, the light flickering in the concourse of its eyes, … I will go … The light was caught up by the wheels, and thrown out towards Hobart. … in a different skin.

With that, the entire engine flew apart, and not one but countless arrows of light fled towards Hobart. Uriel’s gaze had bound him to the spot; he could not avoid the invasion. The arrows struck him from forehead to foot, their light entering him without breaking his skin.

In the space of a heart-beat all trace of the Angel had gone from the hill beside Shadwell; and with its disappearance into flesh came a new spectacle. A shudder ran through the ground from the wall where Hobart stood and through the garden. At its passage the sand forms began to decay, countless plants dropping into dust, avenues of trees shuddering and collapsing like arches in an earthquake. Watching the escalating destruction, Shadwell thought again of his first sight of the patterns in the dunes. Perhaps his assumptions then had been correct; perhaps this place was in some way a sign to the stars. Uriel’s pitiful way of recreating a lost glory, in the hope that some passing spirit would come calling, and remind it of itself.

Then the cataclysm grew too great, and he retreated before he was buried in a storm of sand.

Hobart was no longer on the garden’s side of the breach, but had climbed the boulders, and stood looking out across the blank wastes of the desert.

There was no outward sign of Uriel’s occupancy. To a casual eye this was the same Hobart. His gaunt features were as glacial as ever, and it was the same colourless voice that emerged when he spoke. But the question he posed told a different story.

‘Am I the Dragon now?’ he asked.

Shadwell looked at him. There was, he now saw, a brilliance in the hollows of Hobart’s eyes that he’d not seen since he’d first seduced the man with promises of fire.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re the Dragon.’

They didn’t linger. They began the trek back towards the border there and then, leaving the Empty Quarter emptier than ever.

Part Eleven

The Dream Season

‘The sky is darkening like a stain, Something is going to fall like rain And it won’t be flowers.’

W. H. Auden

The Two

I

PORTRAIT OF THE HERO AS A YOUNG LUNATIC

1

hat’s happened to Cal Mooney? the neighbours were saying: what an odd fellow he’s become, full of half-smiles and sly glances. Mind you, weren’t they always a peculiar family? The old man was related to a poet, I’ve heard, and you know what they say about poets: a little mad, all of them. And now the son’s gone the same way. So sad. Funny the way people change isn’t it?

The gossip rang true of course. Cal knew he had changed. And yes, he probably was a little mad. When he looked at himself in the mirror some mornings there was a wildness in his eyes which was no doubt distressing to the cashier at the supermarket, or the woman who tried to pry some potential scandal from him as they waited in line at the bank.

‘Are you living alone then?’

‘Yes,’ he’d say.

‘It’s a big house for one. You must find it difficult cleaning.’

‘No, not really.’

He’d get a quizzical look from the questioner. Then he’d say:

‘I like dust,’ knowing the remark would fuel the tittle-tattle, but unable to lie for their benefit. And he could see, as he spoke, the way they smiled inside, filing the remark away for regurgitation over the laundry.

Oh, he was Mad Mooney all right.

2

This time, there was no forgetting. His mind was too much a part of his lost Wonderland for it to slip away.